Sunlight seeps through the cracks and crevices in the stone obelisks.
The light distorts as it collides with the opaque nebulas. Red. Ruby. Crimson; as the luminescence bounces off the stone cold walls. Water surrounds the conurbation of old and new; forming black shadows on the stagnant wash below.
The connecting veins of the city are full of the hustle and bustle of the mundane ways; carrying the cells of life. Antagonistic technology lives in perfect harmony, throughout the civilised metropolis. River life contrasts against the constant commotion of the city life.
Factories far in the distance churn out clouds of thick, congealed soot; which covers the conurbation in black.
Down in the heart of the conurbation, the soul flows through the streets.
People walk, talk; going from place to place. As the distant incandescent watcher sets far in the distance
where the city can't reach out and grasp its luminosity.
However, as the light dissipates, the substructure of the metropolis reveals its black heart. Suffering. Starvation. No sight of salvation in sight. Beggars sit on the corner of alleyways. Roads and alleyways connect to form the ribcage of the city.
Frozen in time. They sit stationary, asking mortal souls for anything as they pass. The onlookers quicken their pace to get away from the riffraff of the city.
A figure cloaked in the shadows peers over the top of the adjacent building, looking at the dregs of society; its head cocked onto one side. The figure then disappears as quickly as it came.
One of the beggars sits and counts his money for the day. Suddenly he is dragged backwards behind a wall
and doesn't return.
In another part of the conurbation, a couple sit at a restaurant table; unaware to what is going on around them. People walk past, looking straight through them as though they don't exist. Ghosts of existence.
Just sitting deep in conversation about everyday life; they are oblivious to the uptown restaurant, which is now filling up around them with the evening customers. The customers sit down at a distant table; making a void between the diners. Faces scowl at the couple, as though they are not welcome in their close vicinity. The couple realise that they are the centre of attention and that they are not welcome, so they quickly and quietly re-join the throng of the crowd in the streets outside.
As the sunlight fades, the mature, derelict city that is adjacent to the thriving metropolis begins to settle down for the night. The stone pillars are dwarfed by the magnitude of technology of the new age. Cracked, weathered, battered and bruised. The pillars of time still stand majestically overpowering the city that once was.
However, life goes on around these pillars of time. The veins still pass through this living artefact, carrying the cells over the wash and into the different organs of the city.
Houses line the intertwining capillaries that caress's the monumental superstructures. Deep down beneath the filth and grime of the ancient borough, the days of old continue to thrive.
Unknown to the beings that exist in relative harmony, the creature that lies low in the shadows walks the streets, drives the same cars, uses the same trains, and lives in the same houses. It plans and stalks down its next unsuspecting victim.
High above the heads of the human race, crouching upon a ledge, hunched over; a figure cloaked in the shadow regains its breath after a long distance sprint, jumping from building to building. The body is just a façade; what lies within is the true essence.
The creature revives from its exertion, suddenly leaning forward into the dazzling stream of light. Its skin glistens in the setting sunlight, refracting in many directions; revealing its angelic image in the low-lying brilliance. Suddenly, it jerks back into the darkness. Its face creasing in pain, as the sun burns a hole in the angelic image.
In the dying light, the youth of this man is revealed, agile, soft to the touch; but looks can be deceiving. His hair flows down his hunched back, creating a curtain of blonde, which turns auburn in the orange light. His nose twitches in the evening breeze, smelling
tracking his next victim. His lips curl in contentment, revealing long sharp daggers.
High upon the ledge, the man changes his direction; facing the burning sun. He stands up
jumps of the ledge
and falls. His arms spread wide to balance his decent. The obsidian coat billowing out as he plummets to the back-streets below, in search of his next victim.
As night falls on the metropolis of skyscrapers, workplaces and flats.
Flats that tussle with workplaces. Flats and workplaces caress the superstructures within.
They all come together to form the conurbation of old and new.